


In Good Spirits

by MasterOfThePen



Category: The Last Story
Genre: Alcohol, Bad Ideas, Gen, Humor, M/M, Pre-Canon, Underage Drinking, Unrequited Crush
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-17
Updated: 2013-08-17
Packaged: 2017-12-23 20:41:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/930888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MasterOfThePen/pseuds/MasterOfThePen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Takes place before the start of the game, presumably before Mirania joins the merc team.</p>
<p>Yurick isn't much for socializing, not even with his teammates. But when he finally gives in to Syrenne and Lowell's teasing, he begins to realize that maybe his own heart isn't so frigid after all. Implied crush on Zael.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Good Spirits

**Author's Note:**

> There aren't any official ages for the characters, but we know for a fact that Yurick is the youngest member of the team. While I don't think he's under the legal drinking-age in the game world, he'd most likely be underage in the real world.

The tavern was pretty much like every tavern he’d ever been in before: ill-lit and hazy, with smoke wafting in from the kitchen, carrying with it the scent of greasy pub-fare and charred meat. Tough looking blokes—fellow mercs, most likely—sat in darkened corners, nursing frothing tankards while keeping an eye on him and his mates. They fingered sword hilts and daggers. Yurick hardly spared them a glance, but he kept his back to the wall, all the same, and that lot out of his blind spot. Not that he expected any trouble, but— _it doesn’t pay to be lax, now does it? A merc’s life is a hard and thankless one, fraught with danger. If you don’t keep a good head on your shoulders, then you’re bound to lose it._

The others jostled together, trying to make room at the table. Yurick continued to lean against the wall closest to the door. As soon as Dagran secured their rooms for the night, Yurick planned to retreat from the all the noise and merry-making. That last battle had really drained him, and he could use the rest.

“Oi, what’s with the sour look now?” Syrenne called to him, waving a tankard in his direction. “You could curdle milk with a face like that! C’mon and take a load off. We made a killin’ offa that last job, so let’s celebrate!”

Yurick huffed a sigh. “Thanks, but no thanks. I’m not paid to socialize.”

_Honestly, that Syrenne. She just doesn’t know when to give up, does she? It’s like this after_ every _job._

“You know,” Lowell said, “there’s more to be had from this business than just makin’ money. Good food, good drink, good company…” The burly mage’s eyes followed a passing barmaid, and a salacious grin split his face. “You’re still young, so you should enjoy life’s little pleasures, right?”

Yurick’s one visible eye darkened. He made a noise of derision. “I enjoy being left alone, if you don’t mind.”

“You sure you don’t want to share a pint with us?” Zael asked. The look on his face was pathetically hopeful. “Just this once?”

Yurick turned his face away, deftly dodging Zael’s crestfallen look. “Sorry, but I’ll take a miss on that.”

“Don’t bother with him, Zael,” Lowell said, and Yurick could practically _hear_ the smirk in his voice. “The kid just isn’t ready to join in with us grown-ups. Besides, it’s probably way past his bedtime.”

The fire mage felt his face burn with anger and embarrassment. “You want to run that by me again, Lowell?” The glare he leveled at him was so heated, he had to mentally step back, only just restraining himself from setting the idiot’s hair alight.

_I may be the youngest member of the merc team, but that doesn’t make me a ‘kid,’ not by a long shot! And besides, it’s not as though Zael is that much older than me, so why does he get special treatment?_

Lowell grinned and made a placating gesture. “Whoa, whoa, take it easy now! No need to get so fired up, right? Why don’t you just cool your head with a nice dark stout?” He held his tankard aloft, an invitation.

“Hn. Fine.” Yurick stalked toward the table and seated himself between Zael and Syrenne. “ _One_ drink. And then you leave me alone for the rest of the night, got it?”

“That’s the spirit!” Syrenne shouted, while Zael practically _beamed_ with delight. Even Dagran couldn’t hide the small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I mean, _this_ is the spirit!” She shook a half-empty bottle of liquor at Yurick’s face. “The spirit for you, that is! To, you know, raise your spirits. Or something…”

The fire mage slowly leaned away from Syrenne. She was obviously sloshed already, what with the confused puns and slurred speech. Maybe this wasn’t the best idea…

But she was already pouring the liquor into a shot glass (without spilling a drop, miraculously), so it was plainly too late to back out.  Reaching forward, Yurick took hold of the glass delicately between thumb and forefinger, carefully bringing it to his nose. He quickly regretted the action.

“Ugh… It smells like paint thinner!” The heavy fumes were actually making his eye water.

Lowell tried to stifle a snicker, and failed spectacularly. Syrenne laughed as well. “Trust me, it tastes better than it smells.”

Somehow, Yurick found that statement very dubious. But he brought the glass to his lips and took a small sip. The instant the fiery liquid hit the back of his throat he succumbed to a violent coughing fit, nearly dropping the glass in the process. Laughter exploded among his teammates. Yurick pressed his hand to his mouth, continuing to cough and sputter.

“It… it _tastes_ like paint thinner that’s been _filtered through a swamp!”_

Syrenne poked her lower lip out in a defensive pout. “Oi! You just can’t handle such a… such a _mature_ flavor, that’s all!”

“Kid, that’s not—” Lowell wiped his eye with one finger, brushing back the tears of mirth threatening to spill over. “This is _whisky_ , not wine, you know? You don’t sip it, you’ve gotta throw it back, like this.” The ice mage demonstrated, slamming the glass down on the table and sighing with pleasure.

Once the coughing fit had passed, Yurick began to appreciate the warmth settling in the pit of his stomach, the slight tingle working its way to his extremities. The raw bitter taste still lingering in his mouth was a bit of a deterrent, but he couldn’t very well stop now, not when the glass was still mostly full and those two were staring at him expectantly. _I will not back out now, no. I’m a man, dammit, and real men finish what they start!_

With renewed resolve, Yurick grabbed the glass, threw back the last of the whisky, and slammed it back on the table in one smooth motion. There was a half-second where he was able to smirk at Lowell and Syrenne, and was feeling rather satisfied with himself, but it was a short-lived victory, because the whisky seared his throat and he started coughing again, worse than before. He hunched forward, coughing into his hand while Zael slapped him on the back. He was trying to help, obviously, but only managed to make things worse.

Lowell was practically crowing with approval. “Now, _that’s_ the way to do it! Keep it up, and you’ll be sproutin’ chest hair in no time.”

Yurick brushed Zael off, having somewhat recovered. “Thanks but… no thanks…” A heated blush rose to his face, and Yurick knew it wasn’t just from the whisky burn. He folded his arms over his bared chest, wishing that he’d worn something a little less revealing. “Said I’d just have the one drink, and that’s all I need.”

_Just how strong_ was _that stuff, anyway?_ The warmth in his belly had slowly spread to his chest, and his head was beginning to feel as though it wasn’t firmly attached to his body. It was a strange, floaty feeling, almost like drawing energy for a spell. Even his right eye, which had started to ache about the time Syrenne had started in on him, was for once blessedly numb.

The only truly disconcerting thing about the whole situation was that he no longer felt entirely in control of his body, and that was not something he was comfortable with. _Fire magic,_ he remembered, thinking back to old lessons, _is unpredictable… implacable. It takes a person of strong will and steady heart to coax and control the flame; otherwise, it consumes everything, even the caster._ He pushed away from the table suddenly, wobbling a bit.

Zael was quick to stand and offer a steady arm. Yurick tried to keep him at arm’s length, but his sense of balance decided to desert him at that point. “You okay?” Zael asked, unable to keep the worried tone from his voice.

_A bit irritating, that._

“F-Fine. Just… fine. Peachy, even.” Yurick’s fingers caught against the other boy’s coat, but at least he was able to remain upright. “Think I’m going to… head to my room now. Feeling a bit knackered after everything…”

Dagran nodded once. “Room’s upstairs, last one on the right. Can’t miss it. Zael, help him along, would you?”

“Yeah, sure thing.” He curled an arm around Yurick’s waist, pulling one slender arm over his shoulder. “C’mon, let’s get you to bed now.”

Yurick glowered. “ ‘M fine, I said. Can walk on my own.” Even so, he didn’t struggle against Zael and let the older boy guide him toward the stairs, only then truly appreciating his assistance. It didn’t seem likely that he would have been able to make it on his own, not without any railing. The risk of stumbling and possibly ending up ass over teakettle at the bottom of the stairs was a very real one.

Yurick kept his gaze firmly focused on his feet, taking the stairs one at a time. His right hand skimmed against the wall for balance. Zael had a firm hold of him, and Yurick was keenly away of calloused fingers pressed to the bare skin above his waist sash. He nearly missed his footing.

“Whoa! Steady there,” Zael said, pausing while he let the younger boy regain his balance. “I’ve got you, don’t worry.”

“Thanks…” Yurick said softly. A quick glance to his left side revealed Zael’s handsome face. He was wearing that stupid, boyish grin again, but for some reason, Yurick didn’t find it quite so annoying this time. On the contrary, he felt a heated blush suffuse his face, all the way to the roots of his hair.

“You all right, mate?” The smile faltered, replaced by a look of concern. “Your face is all red. Feeling a bit feverish?”

Yurick quickly shook his head, feeling woozy. He clung to Zael for support. “N-no! I mean... sort of. The whisky… it’s pretty strong, yeah?”

“I dunno. Can’t bring myself to try the sort of stuff Syrenne finds. Not as brave as you are, I suppose.”

“Stupid is what I’d call it.” Yurick cracked a tiny smile, appreciating the compliment.

Zael grinned in return. “I think we all do stupid things from time to time, even genius mages.” He shrugged his shoulder, tugging Yurick along. “Right. Let’s get going, then.”

He led the young mage down the hall toward their room. He pushed the door open with his shoulder and escorted Yurick inside, guiding him toward the bed by the window.

“Here we are,” Zael said, setting Yurick on the edge of the bed. He squatted back on his haunches, looking up at Yurick. “Feeling any better?”

Yurick put a hand to his forehead. “Not really. I used a lot of magic in that last battle. The whisky didn’t help matters.” He let himself fall back on the bed. The down comforter was rather soft and inviting. He closed his eye and sighed. “Just let me sleep it off and I’ll be fine.”

“Yeah, sure thing.” Zael reached forward and took hold of Yurick’s leg, just below the knee. With his other hand, he began tugging off the mage’s boot.

Yurick shot up so fast the room seemed to spin. “Wh-what are you doing?”

Zael looked up at him, bewildered. “Nothing. Just taking your boots off. You’re not going to sleep with them on, are you?”

“Oh.” _Well, don’t I feel like a twit._ “Thanks…”

“No worries.” Zael cheerfully returned to the task at hand. Yurick continued to stare down at him as he removed the boot from his right foot and set it aside, then started on his left. A lock of dirty blond hair fell across Zael’s face.

Emboldened by that draught of whisky from earlier, Yurick found his right hand stretching forward, fingertips just barely brushing against the older boy’s hair. It looked so soft and silky…

He snatched his hand back just as Zael had removed the remaining boot and set it aside. He could hear his own heart pounding wildly within his ears. His blood felt too hot. Maybe he was running a fever?

_Stupid! What the hell were you thinking?_ Yurick put a hand to his face and made a soft growl of frustration. This was all a bad idea, he never should have given in to Syrenne and Lowell’s teasing, and he _never_ should have taken that bloody drink!

“There you go,” Zael said. “What’s wrong?”

_Everything…_ “Nothing. Just… I’m tired. I need to sleep, recover my strength.”

“Okay.” The look on Zael’s face was akin to that of a kicked puppy. “If you’re sure…”

“I’ll be fine in the morning. Promise.”

Zael stood and clapped a hand to Yurick’s shoulder. “Good. I’m going to hold you to that promise.”

“You do that.” Yurick felt his cheeks burn with a mixture of embarrassment and pleasure. He hoped the dimness of the room would be enough to hide his expression.

Zael pushed the door open, sparing one last glance at the mage. “Night, Yurick.” The door closed behind him with a soft click.

Yurick continued to stare at the door for a moment before he finally whispered to the darkness, “Good night, Zael.”


End file.
